Subtle Grievances
by falconwingdiving
Summary: A cocky thief, An egomaniac king and one all powerful staff. Once best friends, now enemies both fighting for the same weapon. Him to gain power, her to know the truth. Will they be able to kill the other for their wants or will their hearts ruin them?
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: **This story is an original story. The setting is original, the plot is original. The only thing that I have used from J.K Rowling are the characters names, some of their looks and some of the places she herself uses. Other then that it is stand alone and I take creative licence to do so.

**Girls In Glass Houses**

It was a hot, dry day when her world came crashing down around her. A day when her skin felt tight and itchy, her brow dripping with sweat and hair sticking to her forehead. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, and as she stared up at it from beneath the shade of the large stone wall surrounding the courtyard she smiled. She loved the sun, loved the heat on her skin. Daytime always had been her playground whilst the rest of the kingdom dwellers were more night owls. She didn't understand why, all she knew was that she loved being in the sun. Staying in the shade she looked across the courtyard, surprised at the large amount of people wandering around. With most waiting out the sun now was the best time for bargains she supposed, though she didn't know. Lily Evans didn't often go to the marketplace in the kingdom courtyard. It was a place where only merchants, nobles, Lords and guards did sales and negotiate for a different standing, for materials and pearls that were considered a myth in her small village. A girl of her foreseeable class would not be welcomed, would be sneered and mocked. Even her name meant peasant but she did not care. She was there for one thing and one thing only. Narrowing her eyes, she stared across the marketplace at her target. There it was the gorgeous, but highly impractical dress that she had been yearning for when she had seen it pass by when the new set of merchants came into the kingdom from other areas, trying to sell their goods to a kingdom richer than many others. She had tried earning the money she knew she would need to get it the honest way. By earning she meant, winning card games and bets against men who's brains were much smaller than their egos. With a flutter of her eyes, a show of leg they had been willing to compete against her a predatory look in their eyes. If they won, they could take her to their bed; if she won they gave her all of the gold on their person. Fair trade if she did say so herself. Many of the men had thought that she would be an easy win. Many of them had mockingly stated they would go easy on her, that she would enjoy her time with them. Others had winked at each other and clapped each other on the back for getting the good luck of having a pretty creature offer themselves up to them. She kept up the pretence until she had the first full house, had the first bull's eye and through quite dishonest means had won another arm-wrestling match. She was not above using her good looks and femininity to win. She considered it as teaching the dirty men a lesson for not being faithful to their loving, albeit dull, wives.

When they lost, they instantly called foul. Many of them throwing the table out of the way as she sat there calmly. Looking up at them from lowered gazes she did not move as they towered over her. She was not afraid of them. Her late mother had taught her the ways to trick men; the governess of the work house was much more intimidating plus with her looks Lily often had to keep men away from her. That was not why she was calm. She knew she could take them, each man having a weakness that she often exploited without guilt. It was because she did not fear death. If they killed her then that was that. No big deal. Every time though a kind young gentleman would fight off the angry men, flashing her a smile hoping to take her to bed only to realise that she was no longer there. She had used him as a distraction to run back to the workhouse where no one would ever believe that she had womanly ways to exploit so would not consider the stories of the girl beating all these men to have anything to do with her.

LIly was a tomboy; her bronze coloured hair always pulled back, green eyes never lined as was the current trend of the period and her clothes often resembling male rags. Her nails were bitten down to the wick and her hands were rough and calloused. She did the hard work. Backbreaking work that usually only the males did. The workhouse owner, Vernon, thought that by pushing her to her physical limits he would break her spirit to make her more compliant to his rules. That never happened. Lily was stubborn, she hated authority and with her head often in the clouds she didn't let her lot in life bother her.

Smiling slightly she looked at the dress, that seemed to be beckoning to her. She knew she would have no use for the dress, and knew that it would be highly uncomfortable she still wanted it, longed for it. When she had first seen it she had melted and for once in her twenty three years wanted to feel beautiful, wanted to feel like the women she often watched parade past in their carriages with their handsome husbands on their arms. Catching sight of that dress made her want to suddenly become more feminine, instead of just using her womanly body to win a card game. She wanted to walk into the workhouse in that dress and see the other girls fall to the floor in shock, seeing that she too was female. There was only so much teasing from the other girls in the workhouse she could take. Many of them finding suitors before their twenties, many of them mothers at her age. It was slightly shameful though she wouldn't admit it.

It wasn't that she wanted to marry or have children. Lily could not fathom being told what to do, how to dress, how to look or act by a male she could most definitely beat in a game or in a fight. What she yearned for was to be wanted by a male. She wanted that heat, the desire of a man needing her, lusting after her and being under her control. It had not happened and she supposed it would never happen. That was why she naively thought that maybe if she wore that dress people would stop seeing her as the common tomboy, the common peasant and instead as a woman to fight over. For other women to be jealous of.

She wanted to be able to choose from a range of men. She wanted to be spoilt for choice. It was getting to that time in her life when of course she would have to make the important choice. Marry the brutish boar that the boss of the house, Vernon, chose or go and join a convent. Lily did not do early mornings that she knew being a nun required. Nor did she believe in the unknown entity. She often prayed for herself, yet her prayers were never answered. She would not pray for other people who she didn't know nor care about. She was going to hell. Many priests had told her this after confession that she had given up trying to change her ways.

Lily could not fathom being married to the man that she knew Vernon was already starting plans with. He was a local farmer, older by thirty years and already having seven children by two different wives. Lily liked his son but not him. He was a brute, liking his belt too much and ale even more. If she ended up married to him she would kill him. It was as simple as that but there was no money for her to steal. That was why she wanted the dress. Maybe if she wore that Charlie the brute's son would ask to marry her instead. Staring once more at the dress she sighed. Trust her to have gotten caught by her spiteful boss. He had found her winnings, though she was sure that petty girl Petunia had told him, taken them from beneath her straw mattress and whilst counting the gold coins in front of her had callously stated that illegal winnings was the not the way in his business. Adding that with that sort of habit she would find herself in prison much like her mother had been. She had bit her tongue, her mother had often been wrongly persecuted had died because of people misunderstanding and Lily loved her. She would not have a word said against her. However she knew If she spoke up, it would be another ten lashings. She was still recovering from the last bout and scars were not attractive, nor comfortable. Putting the gold coins in his breast pocket he had glared at her one final time before punishing her by sending her to clean out the privy, the worse job in the entire place.

After throwing a human manure pile at his head when he went for his walk, she had run. Ignoring his angry shouts she had followed the dirt road towards the castle and the courtyard surrounding it. It was a day's walk and she happily did it whilst Swearing to the sky that she would not go back. If she did it would be in a coffin. Vernon would kill her for running, would kill her for not showing him respect. She had had enough and the dress seemed to beckon her. She hid from the brutish men that Vernon paid to look for her knowing that if found she would be getting the whip and tied outside in the hot sun to wither and die unless she begged for mercy on her knees. He liked seeing women on their knees. Sighing, she once more looked at the dress; she could not buy it through legal means. It had not stopped her before and so closing her eyes, taking a deep steadying breath she ran forward. Using her slight frame to weave in and out of the courtesans and men with bellies too big for their clothing, she ran towards the market stall. Almost there. Noting that the large merchant was talking to the butcher, she jumped hoping that her luck did not turn bad for once, and grabbed the green dress. She landed, bundled the material close and silently thanked the lord for having good luck.

Turning, her fingers clutching tightly at the material, she almost whistled, not that she knew how to. For once she was having good luck. For once the lord didn't hate her. Maybe she should mark the day as special. A smile tugged at her lips as she clutched the material close to her chest, her fingers continually stroking the soft velvet. Moving to walk forward a crooked grin on her face she was stopped by a chubby hand the grip showing the strength of the person who it belonged to. She winced, a deep self-pitying sigh falling from her lips. At least she had gotten to touch the expensive material before she had been caught, more than many of her co-workers had ever done. Velvet was a rare item in their village, and with them being nothing but workers sent there due to having no parents or by parents that could not afford to eat, velvet was something they thought of as a legend. Turning she started to flash whom she thought would be the glaring merchant a grin, hoping that he would fall for her innocent good looks. It wasn't the owner it was a guard, royal by the colours of his uniform. She groaned out loud, letting the material fall slightly from her fingers as she dropped her arms. The expensive dress dragging in the mud, dust gathering in the fibres. It seemed almost like blasphemy but it needed to be done as her mind quickly went through the different scenarios. She knew if she allowed the guard to capture her she would be carted off to the dungeons and she would be dead to the outside world, never to be seen again. Never to be thought of. Invisible. A nobody. She wanted to go out with a bang, with the crowd chanting her name either in loyalty or hatred. She wanted everyone to know she had died, even if it meant that they would forever spit on her grave or drag her name through the mud. At least she would no longer be a nobody. Attention was her drug, her weakness. She craved it, she longed for it. She didn't want to be known just as the witches' daughter. She couldn't be caught now; she did not want to be another faceless and nameless thief. She did not want to enter the dungeons and never see daylight again. So she did the only thing that made sense at the time, she spun, threw the material at the crooked guard and kneed him hard in the groin.

He went down with a grunt, his hands instantly moving to his injured part with his body twitching. it was a skill she had learned long ago when trying to be with the boys and have them treat her with the same respect they showed each other. After many fights she had learned that If you hit a certain part of the groin it would make them twitch for quite a few minutes afterwards. It often reminded her of a dying fish. Watching him fall she grinned darkly spat on his fallen body and ran off. People tried to stop her, hoping to get favour with the guards and in return the king, a man who she did not want to meet in any circumstance. She weaved in and out, jumping over barrels and even over a market stall, a feat that caused her to laugh incredulously at herself and to stop for a moment before continuing. Turning a corner she ran, ignoring the angry shouts from other guards behind her. If she was caught she was dead. It was as simple as that. Maybe the lord would be kind to her and let her get away.

"Thought not," she muttered as she came to a dead end. She grimaced. Turning, she placed her left leg behind her. If she was going down, she would go down fighting. Allowing the guards to come at her, she punched, she kicked, she bit and she clawed, wishing that she had allowed her nails to grow. Blood was spilt and then they got a lucky hit. They punched her in the stomach, winding her, then kicked her in the face dislocating her jaw. As she blacked out she just smiled crookedly as the guards licked their lips and told her pleasantly that the rack was waiting for her after they had their fun. At least she would go out loud. Their screaming would be the last thing they remembered if they touched her where she didn't want to be touched.


	2. Chapter 2

**Yesterdays Child**

The castle was an intimidating, cold place to live. The walls were not covered in murals or tapestries, the floors cold stone. It was so if an enemy invaded one could hear their footsteps echo in the halls. There would be no decorative pieces for them to steal or hide behind. It was the perfect fortress. Nothing had changed since the rule of King Godric the first. It was told in legend that he had made it so to keep his arrogant cousin Salazar King of Slytherin from invading and taking over his kingdom. No one knew what the truth was, it being hundreds of years since King Salazar and King Godric died. No one knew why there was such bitterness between them. All that remained from that time was the hatred between the two largest kingdoms of the land. Slytherin the kingdom west of Dementor lake and Gryffindor the kingdom to the East.

Even now centuries later, the kingdoms did not like one another, both in an uneasy alliance so that they could trade. The alliance had been in place for a hundred and fifty years. Only because the king of Slytherin at that time had been enraptured with the youngest princess and had taken her as his bride. As the years passed and the blood connection between the two kingdoms thinned once again there were murmurs of war. The guards and soldiers training more frequently and young boys being conscripted at a large rate. There was uneasiness around Gryffindor and outsiders were being looked upon with distrust.

Staring out of the large, square windows, King James Potter VI sighed. With his hand braced by his head he leaned into the arch, uncaring that a lucky archer might just reach him, instead focused on the busy marketplace. His eyes were narrowed to keep the glare of the sun from hurting his eyes, his body in the shade. James had been the one to spread the rumours of war. He did not want outsiders inside his kingdom spying. Being paranoid, he thought every upward glance was another piece of information taken back to Slytherin. His people though did not seem to be listening to him. Down there many were trading with the outsiders. Many laughing with them. A snarl of disgust ripped from his throat. He watched as the men walked with their heads held high, arrogance clear on their faces. He grimaced as the women with thick painted faces and high collars pranced around in front of handsome young guards and rich males to try and find a suitor. One who would save them from the poverty that was infesting the land. Marriage being the only way out. This James knew. This James had seen, had encouraged. If one married, on the birth of their first child they would be given a stipend for that child, money that went to uses such as buying more ale, or keeping a woman in comfort should her husband already be well off. With more children being born, he would have a larger army, more young men to die should he wish it. Along with the money incentive Marrying was also the only way one could now cross the classes.

Before, when his father had ruled the kingdom, many could become a noble just by becoming lucky and making a fortune. If they had done well in trading, or had a good summer and their crops became wanted, a low farmhand could have a name, a title. They had not been trained from birth how to act properly, how to fight and how one should treat those of a higher standing. They were uncouth, they were new money and as such brought shame upon his kingdom when they traded elsewhere. Now one had to have the name or marry into a family with a name or title. It was one of the many laws James had changed when his father had finally kicked the bucket. Many of the nobles had cheered, favouring the prospect that nobility would stay pure, a generation with no new bloods. James only did it because he needed the nobles on his side when he proposed another war on another empire and he did not like his kingdom being mocked as farmhands making it rich.

When James had first become king, many kingdoms had laughed when he declared war on them. They thought of him and his people as stable boys, servant girls hiding behind expensive clothing. There was no fear, no respect and so James did the only thing that he could do. He made the first war, a statement. It had been a massacre. Children, women and any who stood against him were brutally killed. His soldiers arriving in the dead of night with their swords drawn, their horses not making a sound and he slaughtered his way through the castle until he came to the king in his bedchamber. James allowed the old cowardly man to keep his title but he needed to beg allegiance to Gryffindor. He did so on bended knee and James' reputation grew. He became known as the Devil himself. A reputation he allowed, he savoured and he enjoyed.

When he had been younger, James had been a pacifist. His father had been a cowardly but cruel brute. With a heavy hand, ready to hit at the slightest infraction and torture if even a bad word was said in the same sentence, his people had been in constant fear of him. Yet he never thought to enlarge his kingdom. Enjoying his power over his diminishing public. James had vowed never be like his father. He vowed to love his people and have them love him in return. Then she had come, with her easy smiles. She had been everything he had longed for at the time. Needing his protection she had fitted perfectly into his side, she had been his. No one else's. She listened to no one but he and he had fallen in love. Then she had broken his heart. With that his belief in anything good, in love and loyalty was destroyed. It was due to her that he knew people needed to fear him to respect him. If they were scared of what he would do they would not leave him. They would stay loyal. No one dared go against King James and as such his father looked like an angel in comparison.

Since taking the crown five years ago, James had made the kingdom invade several others. Many men were lost and yet he gained new abilities, new resources and had a much larger empire. With each Kingdom able to control a different ability, it was vital that he had many on his side. He encouraged people from different kingdoms to conceive the new child able to control both abilities from both kingdoms. His army also having men with control over different abilities. They trained each other; they learned from each other and became stronger for it. He was becoming impenetrable to enemy forces and after a few more invasions; he knew his empire would be big enough and powerful enough to invade the most powerful of Empires, the old enemy. Slytherin. An empire ruled by a king crueller then James. A king who beheaded any who looked him in the eye or ate the wrong way. James could not go against him for fear of retribution, his empire not yet strong enough. He clenched a fist against the wall as his eyes narrowed. Soon. Soon he would destroy that arrogant king and it would be his kingdom that would be feared.

Giving the courtyard one final look he turned, his hand going to his head to scratch idly at the healing wound above his brow. He had received it a month ago on the battle field. He was not a king to sit back and have his men get killed in a war he had declared. A thirst for blood sang through his veins. He longed to get onto the battle field and slice his sword across a man's throat, to be covered in their blood. There was a beauty, a softness in watching a man die. It was a powerful feeling. He had caused that man to die no higher being, No one else. Battle was a drug to him and one he never denied. He fought alongside his men; he was not scared of death. Should someone kill him then it was because he was weak and the other his better. So be it. Wounds usually healed quickly and the scars made you learn from your mistakes.

This wound had not healed as easily. It was A long gash going from just behind his hairline down to the edge of his eye. It had been a lucky hit, yet the worse of it was that the blade had been tipped in poison. One that would eat at the skin, at the muscle and bone until it had eaten everything unless one was lucky and had the antidote to hand. James always had an antidote to hand.

Being in such a high position, many wanted him dead; many tried a variety of ways. Poison. Killing him in his sleep which was why he always slept with a blade under his pillow and a new invention toxic gas which had been a novelty for James and one he was very interested in recreating and using for himself. Although many tried none succeeded because he wore a gauntlet on his left arm. It was a sturdy piece of metal, thick and heavy but within the layers were many antidotes. He need only to press the right design and a thin piece of metal would painfully push into his skin allowing the antidote entrance to the blood stream. The gauntlet would never come off unless his hand was cut off. It had been welded together back when he had been a child, a pain that James would never forget. Now every time he used an antidote it required him to go the blacksmiths with a new vial. What would follow would be a painful couple of hours. The blacksmith would cut into the metal, pour in the mixture and weld it shut. After which, James' arm would be blackened, disfigured even further and his hand unusable for a good few weeks.

Looking down at his hand, he clenched it, grimacing at the tightness, his skin pulling uncomfortably. It was healing but it would be another few weeks before it would be back to its usual state. Unclenching his hand he looked at the sheer disfigurement of his arm. It was something that he often kept covered except in war, sleeping and when in bed with a woman, who was more often too concerned with something else then to notice his arm.

Even though he saw it every day, even though he had grown with it, James was still disgusted. The skin was scarred, a myriad of light pink scars in a twisting pattern, one could almost see an art to it, if they dared to look close enough. No one ever did. Around the gauntlet the skin was blistered, a harsh painful red contrasting with the paleness of his skin. He was not tanned, nor did he want to tan. Everything about him was contrast and contradictions. His ghostly pale skin, with his blue veins easy to be seen, his hair a warm brown with eyes a sharp hazel. Many called them eyes of a demon fitting with his reputation. James called his eyes, his best assets. Many of his men, born in Gryffindor were also pale with dark hair; others unless being born with darker skin became pale the longer they stayed. James had his men training within the deep confines of the castle. They lived their lives in the shadows, killing their enemies at night and sleeping the majority of the day as was their way. James only encouraged it due to the rumours of demons that flew from enemies' mouths. Part of him missed standing beneath the sun, feeling the warmth on his face, and then he would remember her loud obnoxious laugh as she climbed a tree and beckoned for him. The day was her territory and he wanted not to be reminded of her, yet even now memories smothered him.

Shaking his head, and smiling wryly to himself he stretched heavenwards, his mind instantly turning to the day ahead. Today consisted of more meetings with the kings of the kingdoms he now owned, meetings with fathers trying to persuade him to marry their daughters and training the new batch of young guards. Many of them were orphans taken off the street for showing promise; others were sons of guards and as such had a higher skill and a higher rank. He knew that when he was not there, nor was there any other adult the children would often make their rank known. James cared not for any hurt feelings. If they couldn't handle simple taunting then they could not handle war and he would dispose of them as he saw fit. He did not need weakness, he didn't like weakness. Sighing wearily he moved to his bed, a simple king-size that was too plain for one of his standing. Matthew didn't like indulgent accessories. He did not like opulence. The bed was understated but comfortable. He often enjoyed coming to his rooms, jumping childishly onto his bed and sinking within the comfortable mattress. There he would lay and stare at the ceiling his mind thinking of nothing as he fell asleep. To him it was bliss something he did not wish to change nor did he see a reason to change. There was no need for it too look good as not many ever came to this room.

Any women he spent the night with would be in a guest room the other side of the castle, his mistresses having their own joint quarters and only one other was allowed in this room. His right hand man Sirius. A man he had grown up with. One who was like a brother and if James ever dared to admit it, much better at strategies then him. He was also the only one not scared to tell James to shut up or when he was being an arrogant dick though only in private when there were no prying ears or when James was in a good mood. When they were in public, Sirius was only an advisor, a guard that was given the duty to protect the king. Babysitting many of the old guards had whispered behind their hands on drunken poker nights. That was all anybody needed to know.

Grabbing his clothing for the day, a pair of soft cotton trousers and a silk shirt with a waist jacket with a long tail at the back, he dressed himself. Stretching slightly the material being slightly snug he looked in the mirror standing in the corner. He wasn't gaining weight, the large amount of exercise made sure of that, he was gaining more muscle. Turning slightly he saw that he was getting slightly bulky. He had always had broad shoulders but now more muscles were starting to form on top of each other and he knew it would make it harder for him to blend into the shadows. Sighing he mentally noted that his exercise would have to focus more on movement. It would make him leaner and toned instead of muscular.

Rubbing his throbbing arm he turned to walk to the window once more. It was not time for him to go down yet. Sirius had to come and get him as was propriety. It was tedious. It was annoying, he longed to be able to just go when he was ready but even if he could kill most people in one swipe he still had to follow the way things were done. It would not do for a king to walk around un protected. Staring, his eyes adjusting to the harsh sunlight, if he didn't have to get up for the meetings he would still be in bed, he watched the merchants. It was relaxing and disgusting to watch them go about their business and the mockery they made of each other. He liked seeing them call out and grin and laugh as they tried to make a sale then turn around bring out the exact same object and sell it for a higher price. Sometimes if he strained his ears he would swear that he could hear the calling of prices. Of the haggling that everyone did just to say they got it cheaper than others.

"STOP THAT GIRL!" A loud voice, one that James recognised from the crude and lewd comments he often heard when passing the guards common area in the dead of night when many had thought he had retired to his chambers. The voice was loud, making it clear for him to hear every syllable, pain and anger in the tone. He looked down, wondering what caused the man to shout so loudly that he could hear it through closed windows. Narrowing his eyes to focus clearly he watched the market place. His sighed annoyed, just a common thief it seemed. Then he leaned forward, his eyes focusing more as he realised that this wasn't like the normal thieves he often watched get chased and carted down to the dungeons. The difference was that from the look of it, the thief was female. Usually they were males. Every woman that he knew had been taught from birth their place. To stay in the home, to sew and cook and bear children. He had not seen a female thief in the courtyard just in the countryside. It was interesting but it would be over in a few minutes and he did not want to waste his time watching something trivial. He was about to turn away, when the hair colour caught his attention.

The hair shone bright, like inflamed copper and he knew of only one person in this kingdom that had ever had that hair colour. Though she had disappeared long ago. James didn't know why, he never listened when his teachers told him the legends of why each kingdom had different skills, or why each kingdom seemed to have set appearances. Though he was sure they had mentioned different ancestors of beings that were found in the books priests read from. A set hair colour by birth. His kingdom was dark haired, always had been which made it hard for any to dye it bright colours without it looking almost faded. That hair, he remembered. The girl. The one who even now he felt betrayal and hatred for. His teeth started to grind. It couldn't be her. Why after fifteen years would she come back? Risk his wrath unless unlike him she had forgotten about their past. It could not be her, a girl with no standing would be dead by now or carted off to a convent. He was intrigued though.

Watching with interest he noticed as more guards ran after her. A sardonic smile pulled at his lips as he noticed the girl running and jumping. She was agile a rarity to be seen in this court. Then she disappeared around a corner. He would not be able to see down that alley. He tried to crane his neck but he knew it wouldn't work and his mind worked overtime. Why would she be back? It couldn't be her. Shaking his head bemusedly telling himself that he shouldn't be interested with something unimportant, he turned as he heard the door click open.

Sirius never knocked. It was his way. He had often stated when James had asked him that knocking would just hurt his knuckles and he only wanted them bruised in a fight. Not from something as trivial as knocking on a door. James allowed a small smile to form at the thought. To many Sirius seemed serious, almost anal about things but beneath the harsh exterior lay a sarcastic and comic genius even if it was what Sirius often said about himself. James just liked the change of pace from the many who would kiss up to him for some standing. James did not find Sirius that funny, his sense of humour haven been destroyed by his father when he was younger. A sign of weakness and humanity he had said. James agreed with him and whilst feeling no humour he allowed Sirius to think otherwise. It made him more agreeable to any of his plans.

"Oh your greatness I am here to get you and as protocol states ask how you are doing this fine day even if we are awake much too early," a mocking bow, but only when the door was shut behind him. None could know of their friendship. None could know that the cold hearted sadist that was James actually allowed someone to taunt and mock him. Even cruel kings needed reprise. James shook his head, raising an eyebrow in question as Sirius stepped forward, his lip split from another fight, his dark eyes shining in humour.

"Tired, bored and deeply annoyed at having to wait for you yet again. Thank you for asking.," James replied as was tradition. His eyes slightly darting to the side to see if any came out of the alley and in what condition they would be in. Nothing happened. No-one came out and a slither of disappointment slid up his back. He did not understand why he was feeling like this. The girl was just a thief, one who was traitor to the crown, one who was not to be trusted and after having their hands crushed, strung up to slowly wither and die by hunger.

It would show that he did not allow thieves. Any who stole would be punished and many would stay away from the courtyard until the next thief tried their luck and the cycle would repeat.

It was his way of showing that he was in charge.

"I live to serve." Sirius strode forward, his dark hair cut close to his head. Although Sirius had the important duty of guarding the king, many underestimated his strength. Sirius was short. Comically so. His arms were too long and his face too sharp. When they were children Sirius had been bullied horrendously behind the backs of their fathers and teachers. Sirius not wanting to rely on his father, a man strict and domineering had learned to fight. He used his small height to his advantage and used dirty tactics to win. James always did admire him for not backing down and not accepting his lot in life as many others would do.

A glint of copper caught James' eye. Turning his head he saw the girl getting dragged, her feet scraping the mud, her lower legs becoming bloody as the guards made sure to drag her over sharp stones. Her head fell forward, her hair falling messily from where it had been tied back. Stepping closer towards the window, he noticed the small specks of crimson that was following the motley crew of guards, all from different standings. She was being half carried and half dragged and as one guards shrugged her further up in his hands, James saw him have a cheeky feel. He did not care. His men rarely got to enjoy a woman and whenever they did he did not deny them. Yet as they shifted her, he saw her face for the first time. His eyes narrowed trying to get a close look though he could not see any features.

Her face was covered in blood. That was all he could see. There was no skin tone, no features just blood and James licked his lips. Blood was an obsession of his, a fetish almost. He longed to get back into battle and spill more blood. Rubbing the back of his neck slightly, he thought over his options. This girl interested him. No woman fought against five guards and survived with their clothes, dignity and life. No female would ever dare to steal, let alone in the courtyard under the king's very nose. She intrigued him and an idea formed. Not only would he have blood spilt, he would be able to test his new recruits. Test how far they would actually go for their king. Test their loyalty and their blood lust. Would they be willing to spill the blood of a woman?

"What's got your attention?"Sirius asked walking forwards. He stood next to James, the height difference comical to any who did not know of Sirius's wrath. Sirius looked down to the courtyard, leaning forward to try and get a closer look. James always had good eyesight, amazing almost. He didn't know why, he didn't understand why and he did not care. His eyesight helped him in battle that was all that mattered.

Often though James had dreams of an old man with an incredibly long beard and twinkling blue eyes leaning over his eyes, prodding them with something that burned. Words would be spoken, foreign to James's ears and as his eyes burned like fire his vision would go black. As his vision went black he would hear his father's course voice. Words like formidable opponent was said, Slytherin was mentioned along with a deal. It was after that he often woke up, clutching his eyes that had started to sting. Any investigation into the old man or his father doing something to his eyes came up empty. All records from his birth and early years had been destroyed or disappeared. It was in those times James felt a renewed form of hatred for his old man. Even in his death he was still making things difficult for him.

"A woman? Don't tell me '_little_' James is getting lonely again. Bella wouldn't like that," Sirius muttered shuddering at the thought of the aforementioned Bella getting angry. James rolled his eyes an annoyed sigh escaping him before he could catch it.

"Bellatrix needs to learn her place in the hierarchy. She keeps forgetting that she is not as important as she likes to believe. I shall not be marrying her and she is only a mistress something she seems to keenly forget. However this girl interests me for another reason. What man would try and steal in my courtyard let alone a woman. Not only that but she survived with her clothing intact and needs five guards to bring her down. I'm intrigued. Make sure she gets brought to the recruits training room after Severus has had his fun with her," James said smoothly. Noting how Sirius shuddered again at the thought of Severus and his idea of fun.

Severus had been the torturer of the first Kingdom James had invaded as king. He was also the only person who did not seem to care about being under the rule of James, nor the reputation of him being a demon. When they had found him he was in the middle of crushing a man's left testicle for information on the gold he had stolen from the princess. James had known he would be useful to have and as such hired him in his own dungeons. With his hard black eyes, one drooping and his thin lips often pulled back in a sneer, many people feared him. Even the guards feared him and what he often did to his male victims. Just thinking about Severus they would often wince, cross their legs tightly and bemoan the fact that they were men. It was just how he liked it. James always accommodated his whims to keep him where he belonged.

It was well known that Severus was his favourite. In the dungeons Severus was in charge, what he wanted he got. When he was bored he was allowed to use James mistresses when he liked though he was not allowed to mark them in any way. Many of the guards were also posted outside Severus's abode so that no one could poison him or kill him. He was too valuable to James to end up dead.

Sirius bowed. Although they were friends he knew it was an order. He also knew that if he did not do as he was told their friendship would only help him so much. James was king and as such had to be obeyed in all circumstances. Sirius often thought that sometimes James was overcompensating, but he kept enough women satisfied that he shrugged off that thought quickly. Although the little quirk of jealousy was not as easy to shrug off.

"It will be done sire. Now are you ready to go to the meetings?" Sirius smiled slightly. Enjoying the small grimace of disgust on James's face before it was hidden with disinterest. Sirius knew that James just liked to invade and fight not deal with the politics of invading and the nobles all trying to back-stab and dethrone him. Though there hadn't been that many traitors lately, James taking great pleasure in outing them and making an example of their treachery. It could have been that he was getting stronger, his attitude darker and his enjoyment at others pain becoming all the more legendary. Sirius secretly thought that it was because James was becoming much stronger, he was the winning side. Everyone liked being with the strongest and protected because of that.

James said nothing. He took a deep breath threw one last look out the window and walked past Sirius. His face was stony, eyes narrowed slightly and his jaw clenched. He looked ready for a fight, his fists clenched and his back straight. Gone was James, walking towards the doors was King James Potter, ruler of kingdoms, destroyer of the weak and overall sadistic maniac. That was how he liked it and the girl thief was going to find out just how cruel he was. His cadets would find out how tyrannous he was. By this afternoon there would be a body strung up outside of his castle to teach the people a lesson. Whether it is one of his own or a thief. James always did like surprises.


	3. Chapter 3

**Keep Breathing**

Another loud scream echoed through the dark recesses of the dungeon. The stone walls rumbling with the agony deep within the tone. The screams were not constant. After every scream there would be silence, the only sound the dripping of the damp down the stone walls, the shuffling of rats and the heavy breathing of the prisoners waiting to hear another scream. They were not malicious. Each prisoner was one of their own, one to feel a sense of camaraderie with until the food came or the hope of freedom. They wanted to hear a scream because it meant the victim was still alive. In pain but still alive. They had stopped making bets hours ago. Each time they had thought she was dead another scream would sound shaking them to their core and making dread and sorrow settle on their bones. They were used to it though, knowing that there was no way she would come out of there the sane. No one ever did and silently each prisoner thanked the lord that they were not the ones in the demon's lair as they called it.

She was lasting longer then they expected. When they had first seen the guards bring her in, they had grabbed at her hungrily. A woman, one that was not smelling like the dungeons they were stuck in. She was clean, she was soft and they all wanted a go with her. She had not been brought to them. They knew where she was being taken and they instantly backed away feeling pity. She had not been scared though, a novelty to them, one that made them watch with trepidation and confusion. She had not struggled as she was taken. Her face had been covered in blood, only her sharp green eyes being clear, her jaw at an odd angle and her hair a wild halo around her head. She had not cried instead she held her head high, stared straight into the abyss she was being led too and a defiant smile had pulled at her lips, her teeth also covered in blood. They all knew that her pride would not last long. It never did. Even the most brutal of men, barbarians who had eaten children had cried and screamed in that abyss coming back mumbling idiots their minds broken.

At first they had heard nothing remarkable. There had been the usual heavy thuds of boots hitting a body, they could hear gasps of pain but that was it. They heard the grunting of body on body, they knew the men were having fun with the woman. Then had come the smell they hated. Flesh was burning, a smell that made some of the female prisoners vomit in the corner. It was a smell that stuck to the hairs in their nose, their faces grimacing. They would not forget that smell. The demon was using fire. It was his preferred choice of torture. Their pity grew. She had been a pretty girl, they had been sure of it and now she would be disfigured. She would be burned and forever marked. The impressive part of it was she did not scream. They could hear grunts and hisses if they listened close enough but no screams. Yet as the smell grew stronger the silence did not last much longer. The smell disappeared for a little while and for a strange moment there was a tense atmosphere in the air. Everyone held their breath, the hair on the back of their necks prickled and even the guards had turned their heads wondering what was going to happen. That was when the screaming started.

To begin with it had been light, short and punctured. It was pained but not so bad that made them long for her death so she would no longer feel the pain. As the minutes passed, the screams lasted longer, the tone becoming rougher and the pain becoming clear. The pain she was feeling was getting worse. They could hear it in her tone. It was then they bowed their heads and prayed for her soul. She would die, they were sure of it. They only wished that it didn't have be so.

Lily screamed, her head flying backwards as she closed her eyes, the pain unbearable. Her spirit destroyed. He had done everything to her that would break her down, make her cry and scream. At first he had not succeeded, but now she was at her limit and wishing for death. She did not like screaming. It was pitiful, it was something to be mocked and she had always prided herself in the fact that no matter what she never screamed.

When they had first dragged her in here, she had pressed her lips tightly together, held her chin high and looked him in the eye daring him to do his worst. He had not touched her first. He had stepped backwards, a look of consideration on his face as he motioned to the men holding her. She had no time to struggle, to fight and try to escape, the men had thrown her to the ground, ripped her clothing off her body and one by one they forced themselves onto and into her. She had bit her tongue, hard enough to draw blood, so she did not scream. They had laughed cruelly, they had called her a whore and said that she deserved it. They had ripped her, they marked her and each watched the other.

It was humiliating, it was terrifying and it was all she could do to keep herself from crying in shame. She had never been intimate with a man. She had never known a man's touch and she knew she never would. These men were animals. They bit her, they marked her they branded her and she could do nothing. She had always been in control, the one who they boys would not touch because she was as tough as them. Now she was just like every other woman. She was used, she was disgusting but she did not close her eyes. When they finished they had stepped back, looking down at her with sneers on their faces. She did not look away. She stared them in the eye until each one started to shift uncomfortably. Standing she had pulled her clothes on, inwardly screaming at the pain in places she never knew could hurt, her spirit was damaged, her heart blackened and in that moment when they grabbed her once more, to shackle her to the wall she swore revenge.

She vowed to any entity that would listen she would hunt them down, she would make them scream and beg for mercy. If she went to hell so be it. She would get her revenge and they would die with her face in their minds and her laughter in their ears.

They shackled her to the wall, her wrists high in the air so she had to stand on her toes. As the minutes ticked by her feet hurt, her shoulders burned and the more she tried to get her wrists to slip free from the bindings, the more blood was spilt.

"Interesting. Many women would be crying and begging for mercy by now," the weasel, for that was the best way to describe him, said. He walked forward, his hands cupping her chin so he could look at her properly. She glared at him.

"Well I am not like most women." She replied. She looked him in the eye, she hid the self loathing behind her hatred. She could not allow her emotions to hinder her. She allowed her hatred to grow to a raging inferno.

"We shall see." He said.

He did as he promised. At first he had whipped her, the leather having sharp bone on the ends to dig into her skin and tear it open. She winced, she hissed in pain but she did not scream. She kept visions of having her revenge in her mind. With every hit, she added another hour of torture to his death. He would fear her, he would not be laughing. He had then had her taken to the rack and pulled her bones out of their sockets. She had not screamed, she continued to grimace, to wince and hiss only a small groan escaping her lips. She would not scream.

He had brought a lit torch to her face. The flame was close to her skin, her eyes not closing though they watered and became blurred with sweat. She could feel the skin start to bubble, to burn and her hair singe. She did not want her face to be ruined, if it was she could not use her looks to her own advantage.

The Weasel had pulled back.

"It is rare I have such a beauty in my midsts. I shall not ruin it," he muttered. That was the only reprieve he would give her for he burned the rest of her body, allowed the skin to bubble and melt. It hurt, she wanted to close her eyes, she didn't. The smell got under her nose, and the pain became unbearable. She was nearing her limit. She knew and she was sure he had started to realise also.

He stopped and did nothing. Instead he stared. He watched as she closed her eyes and tried to cringe. It was silent, except for the damp dripping down the walls. Slowly she opened her eyes, and noticed him walk forwards two guards with him. Their hands reaching for her. Were they going to touch her in this state? They pulled her arms down, they slammed her shoulders back into their rightful place and her body arched. She closed her eyes, she grit her teeth so hard her jaw moved further out of place. It hurt so much. Breathing heavily through her mouth, she tried to brace herself for what would happen next. Tried to keep her mind strong. The nerves soon arrived.

There was a tense electric atmosphere, her hairs stood on end and her muscles trembled. She knew as the moments ticked by and her gut clenched tightly that the next round would break her. Lily had always trusted her instincts. They usually saved her life. Now they just made her miserable. She wished she could be stupid, mindless and optimistic. She was a pessimist. She would die down here, she was sure of it and as she lifted her head wearily she tried to hold it together so at least she dies with some form of dignity.

With only a look at the guards, the weasel commanded them to place her back on the wall. Her tender shoulders screaming out in agony as her arms were forced above her head. Lily's legs were trembling but she forced herself to stay standing should she fall or slip her shoulders would once more slip out of their sockets and she would lose use in her arms as it was not possible to heal a dislocated shoulder twice. She had never known it to be done.

Staring at the weasel as he wheeled in a tray of instruments her eyes widened. Her heart beat heavily and she started to struggle. It was at the sight of the needles on the tray that made her break down and caused fear to show on her face for the first time. He had broken her wall.

He had started off easily enough. Lightly dragging a burning needle over he skin. The flesh only slightly burning. As the moments wore on he started to dig the needle in harder, tearing at the muscle straining to get away from the instrument. It was as she looked down and saw the words she was searing into her skin that her last vestige of pride disappeared. As she watched him finally finish the e with a flourish she allowed a scream to rip from her throat.

It was the word that she remembered in her nightmares. It was the word thrown and screamed at her mother as she was burned at the stake. It was the word that made her remember. From now on she was branded. Everyone would know her as they knew her mother.

_**WHORE.**_


End file.
